


who

by acid_anhydride



Category: Ao no Exorcist | Blue Exorcist
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-17
Updated: 2015-02-17
Packaged: 2018-03-13 10:41:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3378536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acid_anhydride/pseuds/acid_anhydride
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>he doubts himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	who

**Author's Note:**

> shima centric fic in reaction to chp 64
> 
> written at 5 am. doesn't make much sense. i'm sorry in advanced.

His facade surprises more than those closest to him. His fabricated emotions, expressions, actions, words, being-- every detail is intricately sewn together to create a whole. A whole so well crafted that each time he speaks, he cannot feel his mouth move of his own free will. Behind him (or perhaps in front, in plain view, but invisible to him), a puppeteer manipulates his body. The play happens with him in plain view, but he finds himself only a member of the audience.

> **“We will guide the world to unity.”**

How much of this is truly a facade? He’s hurt his friends, he’s hurt the people nearest and dearest to him, yet he stands, a blank stare directed towards nowhere. Another character appears in the story, invisible to him-- no, he can see it and feel it, each time he sees his reflection he can see it lurking behind him, a darkness, is that me?-- but he knows it’s there. It whispers, “Maybe you really are sick of it all” in his own voice. “Are you protecting them? Are you escaping them? Why are you here, how can you do that to your friends, how can you--”

> **“There are no demons. There are no humans. Only one world.”**

His heart may waver, but his expression is cold, solid, a pillar of ice. His own black flames lick his frozen being (and also hurt his friends, he’s going easy, but he can feel their pained expressions engraved onto his heart). None of the frost melts. He doesn’t waver in the slightest, even when he’s alone, all he feels on his skin is oppressive coldness. There are cameras, he tries to rationalize, so I have to keep this up. But that’s a lie.

> **“In order to create it, we are the brave warriors who have risen to the occasion.”**

He’s sick of it, he’s sick of it, he’s sick of it-- why is he doing this? Protecting them? Running from them? He insisted-- he insisted despite the risk. He’d be killed if he were found. He’d have his life ended the moment the mask drops to the ground and shatters. It should’ve shattered by now. How could he let his own black flames consume on of his friends? How could he let one of his friends endure such suffering? How could he keep that same straight face as always with no crack in the ice?

> **“No matter what the trial, we do not go astray.”**

The jester in the king’s play laughs, bouncing about, ornate mask covering his true self.Laughter resonates off the sides of the stage and the audience can feel the absolute mirthe emitted from him. When the king orders for the jester’s beheading, he continues to laugh, no fear tainting his pure voice. Is he happy to die? Is death better than being someone’s tool? Being less than human-- a husk, an artifact. Or is he hiding his fear, his sorrow under that intricate mask, so much detail manipulated coming together to form a complete being. He’s happy. He’s sad. No, he’s truly happy.

He wanted to escape, deep down, he wanted to escape. He took the opportunity under the guise of protecting those near him, but no it’s all selfish in the end. He’s not selfless. He wouldn’t sacrifice himself for those people. He’ll escape from a troublesome reality and-- and then what? what comes next? what comes after? the jester is dead, his head rolling across the palace floor, a cape of blood following; maybe the true king is there, dead, beheaded. the mask comes off and-- there’s nothing. there’s nothing. he wants to escape, he hated all of them, he wants to protect them, he risks his life for them. or, perhaps, his desire is more sinister, hidden within layer after layer of his self.

> **“We do not fear death!”**

Perhaps Renzou Shima simply wanted to die. 


End file.
